


State of Mind

by NeyMessi_FCB (Sherlockophobia)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Bondage, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Past Domestic Violence, Porn Video, Sex Cam Worker Peter Parker, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22637365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlockophobia/pseuds/NeyMessi_FCB
Summary: This is based off of Tom Holland's Peter Parker.Peter never really experienced homophobia until he did. He was raised without hatred of people he didn't understand and he didn't suffer through abuse as a child or teenager. Even during his high school years he was bullied, but it wasn't anything extreme. Why, then, did he turn to alcohol and end up getting addicted to the drink? He was only nineteen, of course. Was Tony Stark his savior or did he not believe in such a thing?State of Mind is a complicated love story between two men with a rather large age difference between each other.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Starker/Iron Spider fic and feedback is much appreciated. If you offer criticism, please make sure it is _constructive_ and you aren't a jerk about it. If you don't like the ship, don't read it. Common courtesy. 
> 
> In this fic, Peter and Tony are not starting off together in a relationship. It builds.

Being a college student sucks, particularly when you are fresh out of high school and pursuing a degree at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Sure, he had his aunt to help him whenever he needed it, but he virtually lived on campus most days, sometimes spending his time out with the Avengers. He took a step back from the whole superhero thing when he snapped his L-5 vertebrae because it freaked him out thinking he got paralyzed. He was also a little tired of being beaten up all the time, coming home covered in bruises and blood. He was only nineteen after all and even though his body was mutated, one can only handle so much pain before they need a break. So, Peter chose to go to college and try to further his education. He wasn’t done with the Avengers completely, he still offered himself up every so often, but the team understood where he was coming from. He was still young, not some thirty-something-year-old guy who jumps into the middle of the action. 

The thing is, being a college student is expensive. Tony Stark was paying for his classes and his dorm, but he was in between jobs at the moment so trying to eat and essentially stay alive was rather hard - a lot harder than it was when he was a teenager living with Aunt May. She sent him money when she could, although she decided to stay in New York where she could feel close to his uncle. It was completely understandable. Peter was trying to get a job at the university so he could have some cash of his own. He had an interview to be a cashier at the bookstore and while everyone knew he was close to Tony Stark so it should have given him a leg up, he still was waiting on the guy to get back to him to see if he got the job. He also applied to a movie theater and Starbucks and it didn’t appear to go anywhere. As frustrating as it was, he is a full-time student taking fifteen hours this semester, therefore his time was limited. 

There was something he could do in the meantime that would make him money. He didn’t want to ask Aunt May for more money and he _definitely_ didn’t want to ask Mr. Stark for help. He wanted to prove that he could survive on his own without help. His roommate was currently out studying with friends so he had a few hours to himself in the dorm. His bed wasn’t much, but he was glad it was a full-sized bed instead of a twin because he had more room this way. More room to maneuver because he moved in his sleep a lot and more room to do interesting positions for his side gig. Sitting cross-legged on his bed with his back resting against the headboard, he pulled his laptop into his lap and turned it on, opening it up so he could view the screen. He blinked at the light emanating from it and entered his password, grateful that Tony was able to help him find a long, strong password to ensure he wouldn’t be hacked. Being shirtless already helped him because all he had to do was kick off his jeans and move the laptop back onto the gold-colored sheets and dark red blanket - courtesy of Tony. 

Sitting in his black boxer briefs, he went to the website he always used and logged into his premium account - one of the only subscriptions he keeps active. It was a porn website. His style was not talking, but he was vocal as he got himself off for the camera. He turned on his webcam and immediately three people joined to watch the show. He knew he had fans. To keep himself at the moment, he thought about his mentor, the one he had a deep-seated crush on. Was it wrong to jack off to Iron Man? Probably, but a lot of people do it, he assumes. As he slowly pulled his cock from his underwear, he was imagining the older man watching him. He imagines him reaching over and assisting by grabbing his cock instead. Peter pretends his hand is Tony’s as he strokes his length, staring directly into the camera. Fifteen more viewers. Thirty. Fifty. He continues. He starts off slow and then pauses to grab the lube that was sitting by him and squeezes some onto his cock, smearing it around with his hand. 

Clicking the lid closed, he goes back to what he was doing. His thumb dances up to rub just below the head and he lets out a low moan, dropping his head back against the headboard. When he looks at the screen again, he’s up to one hundred viewers. Damn, he was popular tonight. Better give them the whole show. His hand picked up the pace and he twisted his hand slowly, enjoying the feeling and slight friction felt even with the lube. He began bucking up into his hand and let out some grunts, moans and groans while his other hand reached down to cup and gently squeeze his balls. He was thrusting at a good pace now and he knew he was close when his testicles tightened in his grip. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, breathing erratically while he imagined his mentor between his legs, helping him get to the release he needed. His skin heated up and his body flushed as he grew closer to his orgasm. A few more strokes and he came, shooting spurts of cum up onto his chest with a loud, low groan. He paused to check the view count at one hundred and fifty, then went back to slowly stroking himself through his orgasm. He winked into the camera and shut off the feed, watching as the numbers dispersed. However, he froze in absolute horror when he read one of the comments asking, “Who’s Tony?” and, oh _god_ , did he really moan his name out loud? Sure, he was thinking about it but did he say it aloud? Tony didn’t see, did he? No, doubt it. Tony could be sleeping with anyone he wants. He doesn’t have time to watch porn, let alone some teenager’s webcast. Also, he was pretty sure the billionaire was straight or at least leaned more toward girls. 

He frowned and closed his laptop, grabbing the soft rag that was next to his bottle of lube and cleaned himself up. He would check how much money he made in the morning. He was too scared to open it again and too shook up to care; all he wanted to do was sleep. Peter put away the lube and tossed the rag into his dirty laundry basket, opting to change into a different pair of underwear before crawling into bed and getting comfortable underneath his blanket. It was only 10:00 pm, but his masturbation session left him spent and exhausted. He didn’t hear his roommate come back to the dorm, nor did he hear his five alarms he set to wake himself up. Only when his sixth alarm went off, a loud trumpet sound, did he nearly fall out of bed. Looking at the time on his phone, he noticed it was 7:15 am. Dammit. He only had fifteen minutes to get changed and haul ass across campus to his class at 7:30 am. 

He tossed on the same jeans from last night and yanked out a black graphic t-shirt from his drawer that had some cheesy science joke on it, leaving the drawer open and clothes strewn around. He pulled on his Nike sneakers and shoved a toothbrush into his mouth. You always need a healthy smile! When he finished he spit into the sink, rinsed his mouth and grabbed his textbooks. He didn’t pay any attention to his roommate who was still asleep because he knew that the guy didn’t have class until 8:30 am. He ran out the door as if some aliens were chasing him and barely made it to his class on time. He was lucky he was able to hop from building to building, but this feat was always risky especially in daylight; you never knew who was watching. Plus, everyone recorded everything and if you aren’t careful, you might become the next YouTube Internet sensation. Peter shuddered at the thought since he wasn’t wearing his Spider-Man outfit. 

The day went by in a blur; his mind trapped in a never-ending thought cycle about his cam session last night. Who was that person? Did he really moan Tony’s name? Were they going to leak the video? The last part didn’t really make sense because he was an amateur college student just trying to make a quick buck. He wasn’t a professional by any means and since no one knew he was Spider-Man, he’d consider himself lucky. He had a shit ton of extra homework to go through tonight so hopefully that would take his mind off of who was talking to him over the computer. Definitely some random. Did it really matter to him that much? He was tasked to write a ten page essay of his choosing, but it had to fit the theme of his course, something related to history during one of the periods: Ancient civilization, the Middle Ages, or modern times, but it had to be in the Middle East. He wasn’t allowed to pick a European country, which he didn’t mind at all. He momentarily thought about asking Mr. Stark for help, but he was worried he would trigger something due to his time trapped in a cave for months on end. No, he’s got this. He will write about ancient civilizations, but first he needed coffee. Since he couldn’t afford to go out and get Starbucks or visit another coffee shop, he would head back to his dorm to use his Keurig, courtesy of Tony Stark. He was interested to know why the man kept buying him everything he wanted or didn't want, but he kept those thoughts to himself.

He settled in on his bed with his hot mug of medium brew coffee with some vanilla creamer and set out to do research on his topic. He pursued through different web pages, methodically choosing from decent sources, keeping far away from Wikipedia. Sometime in the evening he decided he wanted to look himself up to see if there was an article on the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and he was sorely disappointed. There was hardly any information on the Wikipedia article and the information that was there made him cringe. They didn’t even include him as an Avenger. Well, to be fair, the Avengers haven't announced him as their newest recruit, but surely people questioned when they see him out fighting with them. When he changed gears and looked himself up on Urban Dictionary, he slammed the laptop shut and kicked it off the bed, body shaking with both anger and sadness. The definition? “Your friendly neighborhood faggot.” He wasn’t out, so maybe people were just being cruel, yet it cut deep nonetheless. He was near hyperventilation as he held back tears and considered calling his aunt or friend Ned about it. Instead, he pulled his shoes back on, yanked a maroon colored hoodie over his head and grabbed his AirPods, because of course he had AirPods. Mr. Stark basically spoils him. 

Peter barely remembered to lock the door and almost slammed into his roommate who was coming back from his class. Unfortunately his roommate caught his eye and could see his tear streaked face even with his hoodie pulled off, but fortunately Peter was out the main hallway door before his roommate got in a word. He honestly hated crying in front of people, showing vulnerability, but sometimes it happened or he gets walked in on while sobbing into his pillow. He hates the feeling he gets when people try to comfort him; he doesn’t want pity or others to feel bad for him. There was a light drizzle outside and it was cold. When he looked up at the sky he could see dark clouds off in the distance and for a moment he felt like he was in a cheesy movie where the main character runs off to cry in the rain. That’s exactly what he was doing, though. Peter didn’t care about clichés in the moment. He tried to figure out where to go, although his feet were leading him to a tall building. Maybe he was in a music video, who knows? He wanted privacy and regular civilians usually don’t hang out on the roofs of tall buildings. He went to one where he knew only superheroes could get to and he knew no one was coming to see him any time soon. He sat on the edge, allowing his feet to dangle as he watched the world happening below him. He used to be afraid of heights and he admittedly still is a little, but he’s glad to have his web to catch him when he shoots it out. 

Tears fell unceremoniously from his cheeks and he allowed loud, audible sobs to rack his body. Some weird impulse in the back of his mind told him to jump and not catch himself. He didn’t because he actually enjoys life and protecting the city around him. Impulsive intrusive thoughts suck sometimes. He let his head fall back and he yelled as loud as possible, allowing his voice to be carried away by the traffic down below him. Oh fuck, he wanted to _drink_ and let his feelings be washed away by alcohol. He blinked some tears away and rubbed at his eyes before pulling out his phone to check his bank account. $400.72. Shit. The website paid him already. He put it back in his pocket so he could safely get down from the building. He knew a couple of bars that would let him drink alcohol even though he was only nineteen. It was illegal, but he definitely wasn’t telling anyone any time soon. Luckily for him, the storm hadn’t rolled in so he could move freely without the rain smacking him in the face. It hurt when he swung around the city while rain drops all but pierced his skin. 

When he arrived at the bar, _Les Caves de Pragues_ , which was totally a rip-off of the same bar in France, it was fairly dark. His phone told him it was 9:00pm and fuck him for drinking early, right? He was a lightweight and he knew to call an Uber so he could get home safely. He meticulously sought out a bar that wasn’t a gay bar because the comment he read online made him feel unsafe. He needed to keep a low-profile, which means either blow all his money and ask Mr. Stark for help, or carefully spend his money. Carefully spending his money was the better choice because he did not want to explain why he would need more in the future. The handle to the bar door felt cool in his hand and he didn’t realize his temperature was higher than normal, no thanks to his emotions. He never experienced too much homophobia in his life, he wasn’t abused and Aunt May was openly supportive of the LGBTQIA+ community. He experienced bullying in school, but nothing that was outlandish or outside the norm for students. He was quite sensitive to it because it scared him more than anything. He knew that if he was openly gay, it would be like wearing a target on his back - or at least that’s what it would feel like to him. A couple standing behind him, waiting to enter the bar, made him almost jump out of his skin. They shot him a puzzled look and he yanked the door open, hoping to forget what happened. 

The lights were low and the music was loud while a sports game played on multiple television. Although it wasn’t Sunday, they had an old football game playing from a couple weeks ago. He couldn’t care less and found himself moving to the bar table. There weren't a lot of people here which caused him to feel open, exposed, and vulnerable. He checked over his shoulder quite a few times before the bartender asked if he was okay. He nodded and ordered a scotch, something he didn’t particularly enjoy, but it reminded him of Mr. Stark. He needed that sort of familiar comfort right now and drinking it calmed his nerves. It wasn’t a pleasant taste, so Peter ordered a fruity drink after it, not really caring who saw him. He wanted to enjoy himself and calm down. Why did it matter what men drank anyway? It didn’t make you less of a man to drink colorful fruity drinks and they tasted a hell of a lot better than beer. That was one thing he couldn’t stand, but MJ and Ned seemed to enjoy it. Hell, Thor would chug pint after pint of beer just to prove that he could without getting drunk. Natasha, the typical Russian, preferred vodka while Steve drank malt beverages and the occasional IPA. Bruce usually didn’t partake in drinking, but Peter pegged him for a whisky man for some reason. There were too many Avengers for him to think about what the rest of them drank and he wanted to focus on his own. Maybe this time he would have a White Russian. 

Sipping on his drink, he turned around to watch the people mingle about. Some were playing pool while others were dancing lazily on the dance floor. He sort of wished that the bar would play some electronic music or something he could dance to, but this wasn’t that type of bar. Being on his third drink, he was feeling some type of way, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. It was between buzzed and drunk. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he ignored it in favor of continuing to watch people. He sort of wished one of his friends were here so he didn’t have to drink alone. The alcohol helped calm him down and he was definitely not as upset as he used to be. He kicked his legs around, allowing the heels of his shoes to brush up against the concrete floor every so often; he enjoyed the sound it made. It wasn’t a squeak sound because god, he hated that noise, it was more of a brushing sound. It lulled him into a happier state. The Beatles began to play over the radio, which was really Lynyrd Skynyrd and he got up to go dance to the music. Who danced to Free Bird anyway? Apparently Peter Parker did. No, apparently _buzzed_ Peter Parker did. 

He wasn’t exactly sure how he got back to his dorm an hour or so later, but he did know he had more to drink than he anticipated. Luckily, his roommate was still awake and was able to help him into their dorm and to his bed. It was only a few minutes later that the young Avenger was in the bathroom, literally hugging the toilet as he puked his guts out. He groaned loudly and stared blearily at his phone, trying to make out the words in the text message he got at the bar. He figured it was asking him how his night was going, though the letters mixed together and he saw triple of each one. He hummed contentedly before vomiting again in the toilet. When he was able to sit back against the wall without lurching forward to dry heave, he typed back to the person on the other end. He wasn’t sure who he was texting, but he figured he might as well let him know he was okay and he wasn’t as drunk as he seemed. Unfortunately for Peter, the words were garbled and made absolutely no sense. A couple minutes after the text was sent, he was lying on the bathroom floor because the cool tile felt good against his face, his phone began buzzing in his hand. It was a phone call from Mr. Stark. Fuck. 

“Mm, he...hello? Mmmister Stark? Iron Man? Cool,” He tried his best to sound sober over the phone. 

“Peter? Are you _drunk_? What the fuck? You’re only nineteen.” The voice scolded from the other side of the line. 

Peter shushed the man, closing one eye as if it made anything better. “Am not drank. Nope. Very s…sober. Sober. Yes.”

“I’m coming down tomorrow, 7am. I can’t believe how irresponsible you are. Should I tell Aunt May? God. I thought you were more mature than this, kid! I thought you were _better_ than this,” Tony scolded Peter, who was now feeling very sad and very guilty. 

“Am sorry, Mr. Iron Man. ‘M real sorry,” He sniffled, not even bothering to wipe the snot off of his upper lip. 

There was an audible sigh through the phone, “I just hope you’re okay.”

“Fine. On floor. Dorm.” He was still crying, yet again, and his voice was most definitely shaking. Drinking made him emotional. 

“Tomorrow. 7am.” Tony reminded him before hanging up the phone in typical Stark fashion. Doesn’t he know what a goodbye was?

Peter left the phone sitting against his ear for a little while, listening to nothing because the line was already disconnected. Tony was coming, yay, Peter liked Tony. Maybe he’d come and let him suck his cock. Wait, no. That didn’t make sense. Tony had no idea that the younger man was into him like that and the billionaire liked _women_ anyway. Peter pushed himself up on shaky arms and managed to flush the toilet and somehow rinse out his mouth before leaving the bathroom and collapsing on his bed. He was exhausted and he wasn’t sure of the time, although it looked to be midnight on his phone. Somehow, he got his blanket over his body and fell asleep - still in his clothing. He woke up in the middle of the night around three in the morning to vomit again and this time he promised himself he would never drink again. This really sucked. He noticed his phone was left in the bathroom and he picked it up, checking for messages and walking back to his bed. Only a few unimportant news headlines sat unread in his notifications and he didn’t have the energy to look through them. He peeled his hoodie off of his sweat covered body and got the shirt off as well. He kicked off his shoes without untying the laces, something that really bothered his aunt for some reason, and dropped his pants. It felt relieving to undress after a bad day yesterday and he crawled back into bed. He managed to sleep like a baby, or almost like a baby, thankfully not waking up to throw up again. 

There was a loud pounding on his door and he groaned, moving into the fetal position while he hugged his pillow to his head to cover his ears. His roommate answered only to be immediately kicked out with a loud protest while Peter’s mentor let himself in. The door behind him was locked and the man stood by the door with his arms crossed over his chest, an air of authority surrounding him. He was in a band t-shirt, Black Sabbath, and a pair of jeans. Peter only knew that because he peered over his pillow to see who entered his dorm. He groaned and curled up tighter, closing his eyes and wishing the man would go away. Everything was heightened, especially because of his spider powers, and he was definitely hungover. The pounding on the door gave him a headache and he wasn’t sure he was ready for a lecture from Tony fucking Stark. The guy acted like he was his father. Maybe that was a good thing. 

“Go away,” Peter whined, not wanting to be scolded by the older man. 

“I told you I’d be here at 7. It’s 7.”

Peter looked at him again and sighed before closing his eyes once more. “I have a headache. Why are you here?”

“Why were _you_ drunk?” Tony countered, raising an eyebrow at the young man who was still in his fetal position. 

“Cause I was. I don’t want to talk about it. Please, Mr. Stark, I have a headache.” He whined, hoping that the billionaire would leave him alone.

“Spring Break starts today, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re coming to be in New York with me at the Avengers Tower so I can keep an eye on you.”

“That’s not fair. What about my friends?”

“Life isn’t fair, Parker. Your friends will survive without you.”

“I’m not a kid!” He protested, throwing the pillow at Tony which only landed halfway from its intended target. 

“Dammit Peter! You’re acting like a kid and you’re being irresponsible. Someone has to keep an eye on you and make sure you aren’t doing something stupid. Now get dressed and grab whatever it is you need. Happy is waiting outside.”

With that, Tony Stark left his dorm, allowing his roommate to come back in. Peter didn’t have a chance to protest, but his face was hot and red from embarrassment. He sat up and changed into his clothes from last night, only deciding at the last moment to change his shirt because it smelled like vomit. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, he picked out a different shirt and tugged it on over his head. He packed a few changes of clothes, his toothbrush and mouthwash as well as his laptop. He grabbed his chargers for his phone and his laptop, then made sure he had his wallet. He picked up his keys from the dish beside the front door, said a quick goodbye to his roommate and headed out to where Happy Hogan was parked with one of Tony’s expensive vehicles. The man had a strange fixation on Audi’s, which Peter didn’t exactly mind, but it was strange climbing into the back seat of a luxury vehicle. He grumbled to himself and rested his head against the cold window, closing his eyes as he waited for Happy to drive them to the airport. Of course, he knew Tony had a private jet so they wouldn’t be flying commercial. Part of him wanted to have champagne on the flight, except he knew Tony would most likely murder him if he drank any alcohol. The A/C was blasting even though it was 46° outside. Peter wasn’t sure if it was Happy being an ass to him or if the guy was overheated, which didn’t make sense to him because of the weather. He drew his legs up onto the seat with him and got out his phone to play a downloaded game. It was some first person shooter that he enjoyed and it kept him busy on the ride to the airport. 

The flight was boring and of course, Happy ignored him most of the time. Sometimes he had no choice but to look at the boy, who was shoving his phone in the man’s face. He didn’t know why Happy didn’t like him, everyone liked Spider-Man. He spent some time staring at the rather expensive champagne bottles on the flight, wondering what the difference in taste was from the six dollar champagne he has had from the store. MJ always brought over different alcohols because she was good at faking IDs. However, they were broke college kids and could only afford so much, so he never really had the chance to indulge on anything expensive. He read one of the bottles aloud, keeping his voice barely above a whisper so Happy wasn’t on his ass about looking at the alcohol. Armand de Brignac Blanc de Noirs. When Peter said it, it sounded the most American anyone has ever pronounced the words. “Armand dee Brignack Blank de Norris”. It made sense to him. He elected to Google it so he could learn more about the bottle and of course it is the rarest of the brand, and of course Tony Stark owned one of only 3,000 bottles ever produced. Peter licked his lower lip at the thought of tasting the alcohol but he had to force himself to return to his seat because the jet was landing. 

It figured that the jet didn’t specifically land at an airport, but instead landed at the Avengers tower. He definitely wondered why Mr. Stark had to be so extra about everything. He’s a billionaire, that’s why. He could do anything he wanted with his money and no one could stop him. It was par for the course that Tony wasn’t here, so Happy had to show him where he was staying. Peter wondered why he was called Happy when the man was far from; he should be called Angry or Grumpy. He shrugged off the thought and set his bag down by the bed in the room he was staying in for all of Spring Break. He was an adult so he could leave whenever he wanted even though he knew someone would report him missing no sooner than him walking or swinging out of the tower. It felt like Mr. Stark had spies everywhere, especially with JARVIS watching his every move. Uncertain of what to do, he decided on exploring the floor that his bedroom was on. It was expansive and littered with expensive objects, some of which he didn’t understand. He stared at one curiously, tilting his head this way and that, before giving up and moving on. In another room behind a cabinet was a massive amount of liquor. Small glasses rested nearby and while he wondered what was the point of this room, he would much rather open the case and try out some of the alcohol. Looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was around, he pulled open the cabinet that gave out an annoying creak. He paused to admire the dark black ebony wood that made up the cabinet before reaching for a bottle of Crown Royal. 

Peter stepped back and picked up one of the fancy crystal looking glasses and sat down on a chair in the room. He poured himself an almost full glass of the alcohol and smelled it, sighing in satisfaction. As he lightly sipped on his beverage, he opted to read the bottle to learn more about the Canadian whisky. It read 80 proof, 40% and he closed his eyes to enjoy the strong alcohol content the bottle possessed. After he finished the glass, he was riding a buzz and he was looking to the cabinet to see what else was in there. Nothing piqued his interest at that moment so he got another glass full of his chosen Crown Royal. The lettering looked funny and he wondered aloud why the liquid inside looked orange. Why did they call it Crown Royal anyway and what was with the strange logo on the front? He didn’t know the answers to his questions and he knew he wasn’t going to look them up because he most likely wouldn’t be able to spell out the name in his inebriated state. He was rather drunk off this second glass, which meant when he was pouring his third it spilled on his lap and the glass only got about half full. He grumbled to himself but there was nothing he could do. Maybe, however, he could find a bathroom around and change out of these clothes. 

He made an attempt to stand up and fell back down against the chair, realizing that moving was going to be harder than he thought. He elected to set the bottle and glass down and tried his best to concentrate on standing up. He didn’t feel like he had any legs and that set a panic through him until he reached down and felt his thighs and calves. Phew, crisis averted. Someone cleared their throat from the doorway and he whipped his head around, shooting web toward the person. It hit the wall instead and Peter was forced to look at who was standing there. It was odd, no one should sneak up on someone like that, but this person did. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted, although everything was spinning and blurry and weird. When his optic nerve caught up with his eyes he was able to see that it was none other than Tony Stark. This man had some weird fascination with standing in doorways and Peter was going to tell him that, except the words came out incoherent and at that moment he knew he was screwed. Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise, I completely forgot about the past Domestic Violence tag when I was uploading the first fic. It is referenced a few times throughout the fic and Peter might go into detail later on.
> 
> For now, enjoy the alcoholism that he struggles with and crying. Constantly. 
> 
> I am sorry it's shorter than the other chapter, but I hope y'all still like it!! A little dialogue heavy. Feedback is much appreciated as always. Love you all!!
> 
> Also, I plan on editing that summary to sound better, eventually.

10:30 am. Ten-thirty in the fucking morning. Why was he drinking so early when he just puked his guts out last night? Where was he again? Oh right, Mr. Stark had him move into the Avengers Tower a couple of hours ago as some sort of punishment. Where was Mr. Stark anyway? He looked around the room because his attention dropped back to the alcohol in his hand and he spotted the man still standing in the doorway. Right. There was another attempt to stand up, but it didn’t go as he had planned. Instead, he landed face-first on the floor because his arms did not coordinate with his brain properly and his fantasy about Tony catching him didn’t go as planned either. He groaned at hitting his head on the carpet, thank god it was carpet and managed to push himself up into a sitting position. Tony approached him at this point and offered his hand to help the kid up, although he didn’t say anything. Peter didn’t know what he hated more, being lectured or the silent treatment. 

After being escorted back to the room he was staying in, he fell onto his bed and somehow managed to crawl under the covers. Still no word from Tony. He sighed heavily and audibly, attempting to peek at his mentor, though his vision was blurry and doubled. He wanted to say something, yet no words wanted to exit his mouth. He cursed inwardly, frustrated that his body wasn’t doing what it was told and allowed sleep to wash over him instead. He had a dreamless morning and slept like a baby if that’s what you want to call it. Peter awoke around 3:00 pm, only finding out by checking his phone. He groaned at the headache thanks to his new hangover, or was it leftover from this morning? There was another text on his phone which left him wishing that people could learn to text him while he was awake and not busy. People always wanted his attention for some reason or another. Electing to ignore the message, he crawled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, contemplating throwing up his guts once again. However, when he attempted, the only thing that came out was alcohol and bile, which left an uncomfortable burning sensation in his throat. God, why does he do this to himself? He stood up and checked himself over in the mirror, reaching up to touch a tender spot on his forehead. He hissed from the pain and stared instead at his disheveled hair and the puke on his top. When did that happen? Looking straight into the mirror showed him that his eyes were bloodshot and there were dark rings accenting his brown eyes. He looked like a hot mess or some rabid raccoon that crawled out of a New York dumpster on a hot summer’s day. 

The water felt refreshing against his skin as he washed his face in the porcelain sink, allowing his fingers to brush against the gold faucet. This was not something he’d ever thought he’d see, because Aunt May and he never had a lot of money. He sighed and slipped off the rest of his clothes to take a shower, continuing to look at his body after the fact. He enjoyed the muscles he had, although frowned at the surgery scars and scars from battle. Would he ever be considered attractive? He hadn’t dated since he was a freshman when he was with that abusive senior, Beck, who always degraded him and made him feel useless. He didn’t want to think about it, however, so he climbed into the shower and turned on the hot water. He yelped loudly in surprise when he was blasted by ice-cold water and scrambled to move the showerhead away from his body. Once it got to a temperature he was satisfied with, he moved it back and sat onto the floor of the bathtub. He drew his legs into a crossed position and bent forward, allowing the water to run across his back and push his hair over his face. He wrapped his arms around his abdomen and let his emotions wash over him again. Peter enjoyed the solitude, being able to cry in silence without disturbance. The water helped relax him until he was able to stand up and complete his shower. Luckily, the shower had all he needed, shampoo, conditioner, and body soap. All he lacked was a loofah. He liked that there was conditioner along with the other items because he enjoys having soft hair. Some people might consider him metrosexual because of the way he takes care of himself, but he really likes self-care and appreciates good hygiene. Plus, if he was out, it would make sense to most people. 

He would have liked to come out to Mr. Stark even though he figured it would be pointless. Maybe he should talk to May about his sexuality, first, since she basically became his mom. When he exited the shower he noticed a lack of towels, eliciting yet another sigh from the young man. As soon as he was sure he wasn’t dripping everywhere, he left the bathroom and returned to the bedroom to look for a towel. Luckily, he found one in the closet and wondered why someone wouldn’t have kept the towels in the bathroom where they would be put to good use. He shrugged and rubbed his hair with the towel, dragged it across his back and down the rest of his body. The soft feeling of the towel tickled his thighs, rubbing against them as he walked to his bed. He took a moment to look around the room and actually take in the massive size. The blankets were softer than the towels and when he laid back on them, it felt like he was being cradled. The bed was a four-post bed and he inhaled sharply at the thoughts that raced through his mind at what he would let Tony do to him on it. To change his thought pattern, he looked at the wall to his left to see what kind of painting hung loosely from the nail that was holding it up. He recognized the art as one of his favorite painters, Vincent Van Gogh, with one of his famous paintings, Starry Night Over the Rhône. It was such a simple picture, yellow stars dancing across a dark blue sky which reflected in the water below. A couple stands in the right corner, seemingly walking away from the beauty that is unfolding behind them. Boats were stationed at the river bank and he was curious as to if the couple had left the boats from a quiet night on the Rhône. 

A knock at the door made him jump and he almost shot web in the direction of the sound. Peter stood up and adjusted the towel, not thinking to get dressed before answering the door. The carpet felt weird on his bare feet, almost reminiscent of shag carpeting; it sucked the moisture from the shower away. Upon reaching the door, he hesitated for a moment, worried as to who might be on the other side. When he did, his body heated up as his blood rushed to his face and chest, turning it an almost bright red color. He thanked whatever deity was up there that he had a towel around his waist because at this moment in time, he was sporting a semi instead of a full-on erection. _Please don’t look down, please don’t look down._ He thought to himself, swallowing hard as he looked at the person in front of him. Tony was standing there with a steaming mug, a pair of glasses resting on his nose, a way too tight long sleeve shirt that screamed daddy, black slacks, and black dress shoes. Oh, and Peter’s eyes may have lingered at the black belt wrapped around his waist, but who was noticing? Apparently Tony did because he cleared his throat and Peter’s head shot up, another blush crossing his cheeks. 

“Uh, M-Mr. Stark! Sorry. I uh, wow. I don’t have clothes on. Haha!” Peter stumbled over his words, backing up a little to allow the man to come into the room. 

“Call me Tony, kid, and I don’t mind that you’re in your towel,” Tony replied, and was that some hint of seduction in his voice?

He shook his head, wishing he could think of anything else, but all he could picture was Tony bending him over the bed and fucking him into the mattress. “Sorry Mr. Stark, I uh, I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Call you that. I can’t,”

“Why not?”

“I'd rather call you Daddy.”

Tony’s eyes went wide and he raised an eyebrow out of curiosity. There was a long awkward pause before Peter realized he said that aloud and it wasn’t something in his head. “I gotta go.” Was the last thing he said before excusing himself to the bathroom. 

Oh boy, _oh no_ , now he was trapped. There was no window in the bathroom, he left his phone on the bed, and he wasn’t sure if Tony had left the room. He pulled at his fingers and paced back and forth in the small space, not knowing what to do. He couldn’t believe he just said that he’d rather call him daddy. Oh fuck. Sure, he had a kink, everyone has kinks, but he said it out loud to his mentor. His mentor! What was wrong with him? Pausing, he quickly made sure the door was locked before continuing his pacing. What was he supposed to do now? He wasn’t sure if he could ever look the man in the face again. He wished he had his suit so he could make an escape. At least being in the bathroom was less embarrassing than parading through the Avengers’ Tower in his towel. What if it dropped? He was not ready for anyone to see him in his birthday suit. He quietly asked himself how long it had been since he said what he did. Time felt like it dragged on forever. He could give it more time. He leaned against the wall and let his body fall down it, sitting next to his clothes from earlier. He was definitely not putting the puke clothes back on, but at least jeans would be better than a towel. He curled his lip at the smell of alcohol and remembered that he spilled most of a glass of Crown all over himself. He heard a ding and a grumble coming from the other side of the door, which only meant that Tony was still there and attempted to text him. 

“Pete?” The older man called, obviously staring at the bathroom door. 

Peter frowned and picked at the pants he pulled on, not wanting to respond. He could go for a drink right about now, raid Mr. Stark’s liquor cabinets again. 

“Kid, I need to know you’re alright. Answer me, please,” His voice sounded a bit strained, which made Peter’s stomach sink into the floor. 

No response. “Peter Parker, open the door.”

The voice came across as a command, to which he reluctantly obeyed. His hand was shaking as his fingers flicked the lock and wrapped around the doorknob. Was that his heartbeat he could hear? He ever so slowly pulled the door open and peeked out with one eye, hoping that would satisfy the man. Tony made a sound of amusement and beckoned him over, but Peter gently closed the door once more. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself so he didn’t seem like a fool. As soon as he got his hand to stop shaking, he opened the door wider and stepped out. He held his hands, wringing them anxiously, not wanting to look at Tony who was sitting on the bed. When the other cleared his throat, Peter took baby steps toward the bed until he was on the other side, by the pillows. He sat down and raised his eyebrows when he realized it didn’t creak. He bent his legs up so they were pulled against his chest and he rested his forehead on his knees, glancing to the side at Tony every so often. His arms wrapped around the front of his legs to make sure they wouldn’t slip. 

“Look at me,” The other’s voice seemed like it was cutting through the tension between the two of them. 

Peter shook his head, his breathing picking up as well as his heart rate.

Another command. “Look. At. Me.”

Of course, he had to punctuate his words in that way. Peter tugged on his pant leg and forced himself to turn his head. He looked away for a few moments before making eye contact and he felt extremely small. Something inside of him stirred as he tried to make out what the other was thinking. It was a slow, awkward silence that seemed to keep happening between the two of them. His mind drifted to alcohol, wishing he was able to indulge in that sweet little addiction, allowing it to wash away his troubles. His fingers twitched at the thought, bringing him back into reality. What was Tony going to say? Was he mad? Judgemental? Out of all the kinks that exist in the world, Peter just had to have the Daddy Kink. Sure, he had other ones, but this one takes the fucking cake. He was well aware of the number of people who likened it to pedophilia and it hurt, it hurt deeply because that’s not how it worked at all. His head was spinning, the room dancing around him and Tony going blurry for a moment. God, his head really hurt. This was the thing that sucked about drinking - hangovers. 

“I’m concerned,” Oh fuck, here it comes. 

Peter’s breath hitched and caught in his throat, not responding because he was too afraid of what would come out. Here’s the judgment. “Your drinking, it worries me, kid.”

 _Oh_. So we weren’t going to talk about what just transpired. Peter looked away, afraid to keep eye contact as he was concerned as to what his eyes would betray. 

“I’m fine, it’s just a bit of fun,” He murmured, his voice sounding small and quiet. 

“You texted me drunk last night and I find you absolutely shit-faced within no more than an hour of you being here. Is something going on?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Pete.”

“I’m not. Just having fun, like I said. I just want the full college experience.”

“Okay, I get that, but you are underage.”

“The drinking age in England is eighteen.”

“We aren’t in England, Peter.”

He turned his head back so it rested on his knees once more and wished he could run away from this situation. He no longer wanted to talk about it, although he didn’t want to in the first place. No one really noticed his drinking habits, he was pretty good at not doing it at school. Except for the one time where he brought vodka in a water bottle and hurled in the bathroom. Classy, right? No one suspected anything and now here Tony Stark is, beautiful fucking genius billionaire playboy, interrogating him in the Avengers Tower. Well, at least he didn’t say anything about Peter calling him daddy. 

Their conversation was short after that, with Peter having to promise that he’d talk to someone if he ever felt like drinking again. He’s not good with emotions or feelings, running at the first sign of feeling vulnerable. He was sitting on one of the many floors, swinging his legs as he sat on a rather high stool. Thor was on the other side of the room, watching television, which Peter found odd. A god watching TV. He snorted at the thought, causing the blonde to look up with a raised eyebrow. Peter dismissed him with a wave of his hand and went back to what he was doing, researching how he could drink alcohol without being caught. He knew he could go back to his old habits when he left back to school after Spring Break, but he really, really needed a drink, especially after what happened an hour ago. Tony had left to go to his lab to work on something Iron Man related, leaving Peter to his own devices. 

“What are you watching?” He inquired when he heard a shout from the television, ultimately piquing his interest. 

“Ah! Son of Spider! He speaks!”

Peter shook his head at the weird way the god spoke. “Yeah, I guess, haha. So what’s on?”

“Something about housewives that need rescuing? I don’t entirely understand Midgard television.”

“Desperate Housewives. Why are you watching that anyway?”

“I lost the clicker stick.” 

“The remote.”

“Yes!”

Peter chuckled and spent some time helping Thor find the remote, which was stuck between some couch cushions. He eyed Mjölnir, which was resting on the table, and he wondered what it took to lift it. Not wanting to get into it with Thor, he left him to his television so he could search for alcohol. Well, he did talk to someone, right? That was part of the deal, but Tony never stipulated what he had to talk about. His feet took him back to the floor with his room, wanting to see what other drinks he could get in the liquor cabinet. He felt like he was being watched and checked his surroundings. He was an adult for god sake, he shouldn’t have to feel like a prisoner. The elevator dinged to signal he was where he wanted to be and the doors squeaked open, revealing an empty floor. Perfect. 

“What are you doing?” Someone asked from across the hallway. 

He jumped at the sound, startled because he swore he was alone. “Natasha. Hey, just uh, going to my bedroom! To uh, sleep?”

Natasha was standing in front of him faster than he thought imaginable without powers, arms crossed and leaning her weight to one side. “You know, I am a trained assassin. I know when someone is lying.”

Peter sighed, rubbing his hands on the sides of his jeans. “I wanted to see what was in that room over there.” He pointed to the room with the liquor cabinet.

“Tony cleared it out. If you think you’re getting drunk, you won’t be doing it on my watch.”

Fuck, what the fuck? Did Tony tell her? “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m nineteen.”

Natasha cleared her throat and he looked up at her stern gaze. “Obviously you do if you were coming up here to drink.”

Peter shifted his weight and scuffed his shoe against the carpet. He hated being caught. She said something in Russian that he didn’t understand, then motioned him to follow her. Sulking, he walked behind her slowly, casting a sidelong glance to the room he wished he could be in instead. His mouth was dry and he attempted to wet it with saliva to no avail. It started hurting his throat, which made him question if this was the start of withdrawal or something. They entered another elevator and pressed the button for the floor where Tony was. 

“You aren’t going to tell him, are you, Ms. Romanoff? Please don’t tell him. He treats me like a kid,” The whine in his voice was ridiculous and he chastised himself for his immaturity. Great way at proving your age, Parker. 

There was no response, so he worried his lip as the elevator descended. He tried to think about how he could get out of this situation, yet all possible scenarios were stopped by some outside force. Why was he being hauled around like this? Mr. Stark was _not_ his father. He wasn’t even his caregiver. Aunt May was until he moved out. What stake does Iron Man have to claim? The ding of the elevator seemed louder than before, his headache still pulsating in his brain. He made a mental note to take some Tylenol later since it was obvious he wasn’t going to be drinking any time soon. He missed MJ very much at this present moment because she never questioned him and she was always ready to come over with the alcohol. Did she know? If she did, did she realize she was enabling him? He pictured her in his mind, her brown curls framing her face perfectly, the earthy hues of her eyes lighting up when she saw him. He had a crush on her at one point during his Sophomore year, but his fear of upsetting his then-boyfriend quickly squashed any hopes he had of being with her. Now, he was pining for Tony Stark. Speaking of, the man was sitting at one of his work tables, busy screwing some pieces of metal together. It looked like he was repairing his suit. 

“Wait here,” Natasha ordered as she walked over to Tony, who didn’t look up to acknowledge her presence, or Peter’s for that matter. 

He stayed staring at his shoes as they talked, thinking about how he needed a new pair because he could see a hole in them where the cloth met the rubber sole. They seemed to be talking forever, but when he looked up, Tony motioned him to come inside as Natasha walked out, silent as ever. 

“Come sit with me, kid.”

Peter did as he was told and pulled up a stool, sitting down and choosing to look at the parts in front of him. There was minimal conversation between the two of them as Tony worked, occasionally moving around to fit parts onto one of his many Iron Man suits. The younger man helped out occasionally, holding a screwdriver or hammer. It kept his mind busy for the moment, but there was always that nagging feeling at the back of his mind. Alcohol. 

“C-can I go? I really need to go, Mr. Stark,” Peter’s tone was high pitched as he was getting antsy, desperately needing alcohol. 

“No. JARVIS, lock-down protocol of this floor.”

The doors immediately locked, password-protected, and metal shutters slid down over the windows. One more covered the door and Peter understood that he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. He was beginning to feel desperate and anxious, getting up to pace the room while Tony continued what he was doing. The anxiety was building and he sat down as his breath became rapid, borderline hyperventilation. Tony was in front of him almost instantly, rubbing the boy’s arms in an effort to help calm him down. Damn, emotions. He tried to force himself to relax, yet it wasn’t working. He was feeling extra vulnerable right now and all he wanted to do was bust down the door, but Tony had reassured him that the only thing that could break it down was The Hulk. His hands were shaking and Tony took them in his own, watching him carefully as he had a fucking breakdown. How quaint. He would never be able to prove that he wasn’t a child now. 

“Hey, kid. It’s ok. Just breathe,” The older man sounded concerned and that was the breaking point for Peter. 

He choked back a sob, but it came forth in a low wail, as everything hit him at once. Being into men, Beck and his abuse, losing his uncle. It was all too much. Tony scooted closer and wrapped his arms around the crying teenager, pulling him in between his legs. Peter tried to push away, but the older man held on tight. Not knowing what to do, he buried his face into the man’s shoulder, letting himself cry because he couldn’t calm down, not without a drink. Tony was shushing him and rubbing his back in a comforting manner, though he allowed Peter to cry. His hand found his mentor’s shirt and he fisted it, tugging every so often while he let his emotions flow. God, this was the third time he cried in less than twenty-four hours. He was really fucked up. Peter paused to cough, his stomach recoiling at the effort he put into crying, but the tears subsided. It left him sniffling, Tony still shushing and comforting him. Soft words of “it’s alright” filled the room now, as Peter sat there silently, feeling dazed. They sat there for a while, Tony allowing Peter to calm down, not questioning him although he was undoubtedly worried. 

“I ruined your shirt,” He muttered, looking at the large tear stain near his collarbone. 

“I’m a billionaire, kid. I have plenty of shirts.” Tony replied softly, not dropping his arms from holding him. 

The man smelled of oil and black coffee and Peter let himself be comforted by that, glad to be able to sit here with Tony. He felt somewhat awkward, all things considered but pulled himself back to look up at his mentor. Fuck, he was sure he looked like a disgusting mess. The corner of Tony’s mouth twitched in an attempted smile and he reached up his hand to brush some hair out of Peter’s face, his own face shifting from concern to warmth. There was some questioning in his eyes, but he left it unsaid as they stared at each other. Tony’s arms were slack around his body and he took the opportunity to stand up, albeit shakily because if he didn’t he probably would have kissed the man he was in love with at that moment. The other stood up as well, not moving away, instead reaching out to balance the kid. 

“Are you ok?” Tony asked, sounding gruff, like his mind left to something dark. 

Peter nodded, almost melting at the tone that resonated in his ears. The two of them returned to the workbench and Tony helped him keep both his hands and mind busy. They stayed there for a few hours before the older Avenger got JARVIS to disable the lock-down protocol. They went down together to make some sandwiches while Bruce was removing the beer from the fridge. God, did Tony tell _everybody_? He hoped he didn’t tell Aunt May. Apparently, he was letting his emotions come through on his face, because Tony nudged him in the side, silently asking if he was ok. Peter offered a small smile in return, pausing to take a bite of his turkey, lettuce and cheese sandwich. He made a weird expression when he noticed he forgot to add condiments and elected to squirt some Dijon mustard on the bread. That was better. They sat in silence, only the crunch of the sandwich could be heard. Tony had offered him some apple juice as compensation for taking away the beer and Peter rolled his eyes, reminding him that he wasn’t a child. He had only shrugged and drank it himself, telling Peter he could have whatever he found in the fridge. He grabbed the jug of milk and poured himself a glass, laughing when the other man called him an “absolute child” because he was drinking milk. Things might be ok, but it was only day one and the week seemed like it would drag on forever. He had to get his fix eventually, it was just a matter of when and where at this point.


End file.
